


Outside In

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations, M/M, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People apparently don't walk around thinking about their deepest, darkest secrets all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside In

Most people, it turns out, don't really think about anything.

Which is kind of disappointing, if Dean's being honest. After all, if the world gives you temporary mental powers, courtesy of whacking a gang of evil psychics, the very least you can be expected to do is take a look at what people are keeping secret (not that Dean would have done anything with it. He'd have taken it to his grave and all that. He's not a complete asshole.) Only Sam had disappeared like his ass was on fire, talking a mile a minute, voice almost drowned out by the internal mantra ' _don't think about anything._ ' His real voice and his brain-voice were weirdly, distinctly separate. Which had been kind of nauseating, to tell the truth. Dean couldn't really blame him though. He'd have done exactly the same thing. Not talking about, or admitting to, all the shit they don't talk about is the only reason they have the stable relationship they do right now.

But other people, strangers - well it's not like he knew any of them. Or would probably see any of them again.

Disappointingly, people are kind of boring, on the whole. Most of the time it's a fuzz of black and white nothing, with the occasional observation being the only brief, bright spot. People apparently don't walk around thinking about their deepest, darkest secrets all the time. People mostly worry about car payments, mortgages, whether they have enough milk, doctor's appointments.

Dean never signed up to spend his free time keeping track of other people's doctor's appointments, and it turns out that brains can be really fucking loud, and hard to tune out if you don't know how. Reading people's minds is one of those superpowers he can totally understand people taking back to the store. This is a defective product, it does not do what it advertised - or, ok it does, but it's a much a shittier power than he'd always thought it would be.

Not to mention, Dean has been seriously mistaken about how he comes across to other people, and it's depressed the hell out of him.

He eventually ends up back in their motel room, sprawled out on the bed with the curtains shut, and the low grade murmur of other people's petty problems washing into shore at regular intervals. He tries texting Sam, but he's not coming back until at least an hour past when the thing's supposed to fade away. Just to make absolutely sure.

Dean throws his phone back on the side table, and kicks his boots off.

Castiel shows up before they hit the floor.

Dean's surprised, until he remembers that he probably shouldn't be by now. That he should stop being surprised in general. It's like being surprised every time he sees Sam at this point. Dean's almost afraid to push for a second, because this isn't any random person on the street, this is _Cas_. But he's curious, ok, more than curious, because they don't talk about almost as many things as he and Sam. But they're not even close to the same things at all. The low thrum of noise in the background is still the same, he doesn't get anything from Castiel - no, that's not true exactly, nothing at all from him would be empty space, as if he wasn't even there. This is just like a...fuzz, as if he's between channels, information in the airwaves and no way to tune him in.

"Are you on another wavelength or something?" Dean finds himself asking. Because he's kind of unreasonably pissed about it.

Cas is getting better at knowing what he means when he's not making any sense. He even looks amused.

"Something like that."

He must look frustrated because Cas doesn't change the subject, or tell him whatever he showed up to tell him, he lets the silence drag out. Dean wonders if he can feel him in there, poking around. Like a kid trying to see over a really high wall. Or maybe through a wall.

"What do you want to know?" Castiel asks, as if it's just that easy.

But it's nothing Dean would ever actually ask, and he immediately feels like a dick, because that's what he's trying to do, isn't it? He's trying to find out without asking. It turns out telepathy makes you an asshole, and the worst part is that fact that if he did ask he knows Castiel would tell him the truth.

Shit, maybe that's exactly why he can't.

"I've been reading your mind on and off since we met," Castiel reminds him. "It's understandable that you'd want to return the favour."

"Not worried I'll find out angel secrets?" Dean asks, because it's funny, how easy they've become over the years, how it ever happened.

"That's not what you want to know." Castiel's voice has gone quiet. A pointed sort of quiet. And just like that all the air falls out of Dean, because of course Cas knows. When does he ever not know?

How could Dean be stupid enough to think he had any secrets from him any more?

"You want to know if I think about you," Castiel continues.

Dean wants to tell him to stop, wants to tell him that's enough, that it doesn't matter. But the rush of chatter and background noise from outside is suddenly muted and far away. Because Cas is the one pushing at that edge, testing the boundaries where Dean's unwilling to, when he's too much of a fucking coward. He swallows, and it's harder than it should be.

"I never said -"

"You want to know if I want you, if I'm capable of wanting you." Castiel's no longer looking at him, which is something he doesn't do. He's always looking back, usually close enough that Dean feels uncomfortable in self-defence. This is the one time he wants to see what's in his face, and Castiel is staring off into the darkness of the room. "Though you've never asked."

Dean shakes his head, even though he isn't even looking at him.

"Cas -"

"Ask me," Castiel demands, and Dean can't do anything but exhale and swear.

"Are you?" He grits out, and he thinks maybe the question really is forced out of him.

Castiel does turn to face him then, coat dragging against the ugly motel carpet, fingers shifted from his own knee to spread against the sheets.

"More than capable," he says.

The rush from outside is gone, and there's just the low hum of the air conditioning, and Castiel's cool fingers carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans - and for the life of him Dean couldn't say how they'd gotten here. How they'd gotten from one moment to this, or from the very first moment to this.

"Are you really doing this?" Dean asks thickly, and he could pretend he didn't want it, but Castiel's knuckles are pressed against the hard edge that's proof that he does, twisting and slithering in, before his jeans are fully open, touching him before he's ready. Or maybe he's been ready for fucking years because there's no protest from his body or his brain, just a low shudder of surprise, the twitch of his thighs trying to open, instinctively.

"You can stop me if you wish," Castiel continues, dry and soft. Dean's hand flails, catches the edge of Castiel's coat and fists it tight, pulls until the bedsprings make a sharp, unhappy noise. Until he can exchange coat for the soft-drag of Castiel's hair. He keeps pulling, and Cas doesn't resist it, lets himself be pulled, already open when Dean kisses him. It's nothing like a first kiss, it's easy and rough like they've done it before, and something about that hits Dean like a punch. That they have left this so very fucking long, and he doesn't know why.

Castiel breathes against his skin when he finally lets him go, loses his grip on his hair.

"The inside of my head is too big for you to fathom," Castiel says, voice calm like he's not pulling Dean into pieces in slow motion. "You would not be able to bear the way I think about you."


End file.
